Why the World (in Karachi) Goes Watery During Songs of Worship

Noorabad Jamatkhana, Karachi (near AKU)

Today was not particularly eventful. Same old:

• still jet-lagged and thus waking up super early and getting tired early (around this time actually... circa 4:00 pm-ish),
• still hot and humid (this is not going to change),
• still making new friends (befriended an Ismaili nurse who works here at AKU Hospital in Emerg. -she was so much fun to talk to, and she said she'd take me to Karimabad Jamatkhana one of these days, which is the largest JK in Karachi... around 50,000 people!)
  
• still tearing up at khane
  

I realized though that this last mainly happens only during the ginans... and my theory is (my source of historical data here is my father... although I probably, honestly should just pick up one of Dr. Ali Asani's books and refine my raw understanding here... he really is the expert) that it's because the whole ginan tradition started in the Indian subcontinent way back in the day, when Hindus were being converted to becoming Ismaili, and so the poetic song that used references to familiar Hindu icons, and even comparisons with Hindu gods to praise and revere Islam's One God, provided a comforting smooth transition... kind of like how Christianity retains a lot of pagan symbolism which was used to facilitate the conversion of pagans -let's not misinterpret here, I'm comparing the strategy of conversion, not pagans and Hindus (so let's nobody get offended okay).

Anyway, so back to my theory -if the origin of ginans is here in this land, then maybe that's why I keep getting so particularly moved when I hear them sung here... must be some old resonance or something, they just feel 'weightier' / more profound / spiritually overwhelming (hence the weeping). It's kind of like... I don't know, eating pizza or pasta in Italy, or drinking cay with some baklava in Turkey, or eating fish and chips in England... you know, you're doing the activity / experiencing the culture 'in the place where it really, really belongs'... or at least, where it all started. Now, I fully realize that most of us don't cry over a delicious culinary experience, but well... I guess... maybe it's more like watching the whirling dervishes in Konya, which is the burial place of Rumi -the original Sufi master.